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"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

***A Quote From The Velveteen Rabbit

Monday

It's 2:25 AM Wednesday, January 20th, 2010....And here I am. The solace of night is comforting, but not as much as usual. Even though late nights/early mornings are becoming less "usual" for me in my recovery, I do have to say. Regardless, I still enjoy this space, on a very deep and intimate level, for what it's worth. Which is still a lot, to me.

Anyways, it's been a while since I have been here, I almost feel delinquent in my participation, and unworthy of posting, since I feel I should be here all the time for the sake of validity or something, I don't know, most likely that's my insecurity echoing around inside my head. I almost always feel as though I am not good enough, for ANYTHING, for one reason or another. Or that I don't do enough to deserve to be heard, or cared for. But that isn't even the real reason I am awake tonight, alone on SR Community.

It's really no surprise to me that I have already spent over 10 minutes typing and thinking on this post, dancing around the subject that brings me back around...ANGER. It's soooo hard to talk about, and even really understand for me. Maybe because more often than actually feeling that emotion, I feel something else. Anything else, really. Where the fuck is my rage, my very real, painful RAGE and ANGER? Why am I so resistant to conjure it, to feel it, to acknowledge, embrace and honor it? I am not so sure that I ever get really ANGRY. Even when I think I should.

More often, like this past evening in Group, I can't process, can't deal with anger. I watched my sisters doing healthy anger practices, I was witness to the beauty and raw expression of women I love and respect stepping through a door, making a conscious decision for change, for something greater. Embracing the strength and courage within. Screaming, crying, struggling, trying, denying only to find the strength to be forthcoming. Embracing the right to change their minds, trusting the process and allowing the women around them to hold space. To give them the energy, the love, the acceptance to commit to a scary, uncertain new reality. That it's ok. It's really just fucking ok just to be with whatever is there. Anything that's there, whether they had deemed it inappropriate or unjust, judgmental or selfish, or whatever else their psyche and all the world's weight may have caused them to labeled their anger. Because no matter what, none of it's bullshit, it's all very real. It's there for a reason. It deserves to be recognized.

And as much as this isn't the point at all, it's everything to me right now. Because in all this, I could feel no anger. I couldn't feel the fire. As the women who are my peers, who are my family, whom I love very much went through this process, one by one, passionately and whole heartedly, participated in this exercise, inspiring and encouraging one another to take the leap of faith by holding space, I held space as well. I wanted to go home so badly. As my sisters, one by one, let out their anger, their screams got more and more distant in my ears. And my heart beat faster and faster. And all I could do is cry silently to myself, the only sound coming from me my sniffles and my tears falling from my down turned face only to land on the cuff of my jeans.

And when it was my turn, when I was the only person left, I couldn't do it. I couldn't find anger. I couldn't even move. When my name was called, I found myself several feet from where I was originally sitting, I'd even left my bag behind, I'd unconsciously migrated toward the door. I probably could have reached the knob without even fully turning around. I couldn't commit, I could barely breathe, let alone speak. And when I did finally respond to being called, my voice sounded weak to my own ears, and I could feel every nerve in my body. And all I could say was that I wasn't going to do it. I would talk to my therapist in session about this, but I had no anger. And I didn't. Nor could I tap into or remember any anger. I couldn't even remember anything that makes or even has made me mad. NOTHING.

First and foremost, I want to acknowledge my main emotion in the heart of the moment. I was scared. Fucking terrified. When people get angry I don't want to be around. I don't feel safe. I feel attacked just to witness it. I'm fucking weak. I'm a big fucking baby. I hang my head, my shoulders slump, my spine grows weak. Grown ups aren't suppose to feel like that, respond like that, aren't suppose to run away. At the same time, I want to acknowledge that the entire time I witnessed what happened, I wanted to run away. I wanted to just get up and leave and it took every fucking ounce of strength to stay. Not because I didn't want to support my sisters, but simply out of terror. And it's not their fault. Of course. I really don't want to seem so fragile that anyone is reluctant to express anything they are going through around me. I want nothing more than to be a pillar for the women I care for to lean on. I want to say "It's ok! I'm STRONG! I can take it! Talk to me! I LOVE YOU!" Because I do love all of them, each and every one of them. And I want to be big, I want to be strong. Pleeeaaaaase!

Also, I felt sad. Maybe even more than I felt scared, I really don't know at this point. Sad to hear my amazing sisters say "I'm angry because I'm not beautiful." Sad to hear my friends say "Why doesn't anybody LOVE ME?" Because each of them, every one of them is fucking perfect. Even now, at 3:15 AM, almost 7 hours after group has ended, thinking about this has me in tears. I don't feel angry at all, not even for whatever has caused them, or even myself, to feel this way about themselves. I just feel heavy hearted, broken hearted, soooo fucking sad that anyone has to feel that way. It isn't right. It's not okay at all. I'm also disappointed in myself. Shouldn't I feel angry? For all that hurts, for anyone that hurts if I can't feel it for myself?

I don't know. I don't know anything. I just don't know. I just ran away, as soon as group was over. I just left I didn't say a word, I couldn't wait to get out the door and go home to the safety of my room, my own very controlled world. Where I can choose what to deal with. And in this very moment, I am choosing to acknowledge my lack of understanding, my disappointment in myself...And in my mind, I keep telling myself that as an adult in the United States of America, an adult who isn't court ordered to be in a recovery program, an adult who's at SR by choice, I have the right to exercise my free will. I have the RIGHT to say no! I don't WANT TO, and I won't!

But is that really serving me?

No....No it isn't, and I'm failing myself. I'm really trying to do the right thing, I'm really trying to show up for myself, for my recovery...But when will I really be able to do that 100%? And until that moment, am I wasting my time? Everyone else's time? I hate failing. I HATE FAILING! It displaces me, failure. It is sad, it hurts, it makes me feel sick. And I feel as though tonight I have failed.